Mind Where Your Mouth Is
by The Grand T00blets
Summary: Hermione has a slight fascination with Harry's mouth.


Mind Where Your Mouth Is

Harry really did have a _beautiful _mouth.

Hermione sighed, slumping down lower in her squishy armchair. With her Arithmancy book held so high that it sat just over her cheekbones, Hermione was able to watch Harry – well, watch his _lips, _more like – freely; all she had to do was remember to look down and turn the page every minute or so.

She knew she really _shouldn't _be watching her best friend as he bit his lower lip in concentration, or brushed it with the end of his quill when he had a slight itch, or licked it slightly when...alright, she _really _shouldn't be watching her friend's mouth in general. But she couldn't help it. It really was simply _lovely. _

She'd first noticed its loveliness at a rather odd time – right after he'd cornered Crabbe and Goyle for chasing Hermione up and down the halls on Draco's command, actually. Harry'd come out of it with a look of smug satisfaction and a bloody lip and a twisted ankle, while Crabbe and Goyle came out looking like the trolls they were at heart.

Hermione, being Hermione, had been pacing in front of the portrait hole, faint with anxiety and guilt (it had been because of _her _that Harry had gone after the ogres at all) when Harry had come up the hallway, limping (and _strutting_ a bit, if Hermione remembered correctly – who knew one could do both?) with his sleeve stopping up the blood on the side of his mouth. And Hermione, being Hermione, had promptly wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders and turned them both right around, marching him down the many flights of stairs to the Hospital Wing.

Harry, the poor lamb, seemed to have stopped growing after their sixth year. Hermione was now mere inches away from meeting Harry in height – which she would never let him forget – and as she half-pulled him along, his mouth in clear view, she had become easily distracted from their destination. After circling passed the Library twice, Hermione vaguely allowed Harry to take control of steering. Even bloody as it was, the full shape of his lower lip was startlingly evident to Hermione, who couldn't for the life of her understand how she hadn't noticed it before. …It was rather lovely.

After that, Harry's mouth was always on Hermione's mind. Not only was she almost _constantly _observing it, she was now having certain flashbacks to moments and memories of Harry's mouth over the past few years. ...Which worried her a little.

Sometimes he would get that determined look – that one where he would set his lips in a firm line as if bracing himself for whatever was to come. She'd seen it in full force for the first time back in their first year when it was just the two of them left, trying to save the Sorcerer's Stone. Hermione had just solved Snape's potion puzzle, and there it appeared as he sent her back through the flames. In that moment, she'd seen all of the strength and courage he possessed, all of the kindness and love in his heart… She'd vowed then that she would do whatever it took to get back to him, to save him.

And then in second year, she'd seen his mouth in a perpetual frown while he was stigmatized by the rest of the school. She'd seen it turn into a grimace of pain as Dobby's enchanted bludger made contact with his arm, sending a resounding crack across the pitch that went straight to her core. …And finally, he'd smiled again – smiled like there was no tomorrow after he'd saved her, after she'd been unpetrified and had taken off running for the Great Hall to see her friends again.

His smile had turned into a heart-fluttering grin in their third year, one that could distract her and leave her flustered when she was doing her best to scold him – for his own good of course. Perhaps she should have noticed his mouth then, when it had left her speechless for the first time. Later that year, she'd seen just what power those lips held as he'd shouted the words that would save both their lives – _expecto__ patronum_. That, more than any other time, was when she had realized how powerful her best friend truly was, how much potential was just waiting to be filled.

Then fourth year had come, twisting his mouth in many different shapes, many that she would have never liked to see on him, but the one that seemed to stick out clearly in her mind was that moment at the Yule Ball when he'd recognized her. His mouth had dropped open, his eyes had widened, and she knew all the time and effort she'd spent in preparation had paid off. Harry, whose opinion mattered to her more than perhaps anyone else in the world, had seen her as a girl, and not a walking stack of textbooks.

The Third Task came along and afterward, Harry's lips were perpetually turned down with guilt, sadness, dread, anger…everything she'd hoped he'd never have to feel again when he'd had enough pain in his life already.

In their fifth year, he had such an angry mouth. Hermione had cried more than once over it, feeling terribly guilty every time she stuck her foot in her mouth, sometimes feeling just as angry as he was, and sometimes, feeling absolutely terrified for him.

She'd felt the need to do something – _anything_ – in those drastic times, and, thank heavens, she'd managed to come up with something that could make him smile again – smile with pride, in the students of the DA and even a little bit in himself, pride for a job well done. And then there was that rebellious smile, the thrill it obviously gave him to be fighting in any small way. It warmed her heart to know that she'd found a way to bring him any small measure of happiness.

And then there was that moment, that inevitable moment when she'd realized just how perfectly those lips curved, and she'd been lost in thoughts of them ever since.

And so, there they were, deep into their seventh year, and Hermione was unnaturally, uncomfortably fascinated by his lips.

She was beginning to realize that somewhere along the line, her feelings for Harry had shifted almost imperceptibly from being completely platonic to something else entirely. Not much had changed – she was still his devoted friend, she still spent a good fraction of her time helping him in any way she could, and she still hated to see him in pain. But now, instead of looking at him and seeing nothing more than warm, familiar features, she saw those lips…

She couldn't help wondering how they would feel against hers, how soft they would be, how gently they would press into hers…how they might feel fluttering lightly across her skin…

Harry looked up and caught her eyes. She'd been staring too long, lost in her thoughts – her very inappropriate thoughts. She smiled awkwardly, hoping her face didn't look quite as hot as it felt, and darted her eyes back to her book.

"Hermione?"

_Oh, no_. She lowered the book again. "Yes, Harry?"

"Why were you looking at me like that?"

Her heart hammered against her chest in panic. "Like what?"

"Like I have something on my face."

Hermione couldn't help laughing. "Oh, um, no, Harry, there's nothing on your face. I didn't mean to stare, my mind was just wandering."

"Oh," Harry said, not looking entirely convinced. "All right, then."

Hermione went back to watching him carefully over the top of her book. His attention had returned to his studies. Absent-mindedly, he reached over for a chunk of the Honeydukes chocolate bar he'd been eating away at for the past half hour. He lifted it to his mouth and bit off a piece with a snap. She watched his lips move as he chewed it, watched his tongue flick out to wet them after he swallowed…

Hermione shut her book – a little too loudly, at that – and dropped her head against the back of her chair, letting out a little noise that adequately told of the extreme torture Harry's mouth was putting her through. How much could one girl _take_?

Harry looked up again. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Hermione sighed. "Nothing at all."

Harry scowled at her. "Don't lie to me – if I can't get away with it, I'm not letting you, either."

She wanted to tell him, if only for the sake of getting it out in the open, out of her chest where it fluttered about madly and made it hard to breathe. She wanted him to know what he was doing, to perhaps control his mouth a little better…

"Harry, if I tell you something that's probably going to be very embarrassing, awkward, and uncomfortable for us both, do you promise we'll always be friends anyway?"

Harry set down his quill, his lips quirking slightly as his curiosity took over. "Of course."

"I can't stop thinking about your mouth," she said in a quick rush. Harry's mouth hung open rather comically and his eyebrows disappeared somewhere in his bangs.

"You – what?"

"You have a beautiful mouth," Hermione said helplessly, grabbing for her book. If all else failed, she could hide behind it.

Harry's face turned crimson. "Er…thank you."

Perhaps she'd go drown herself in the prefects' bathroom.

"I never should have said anything. Oh god."

"Um – I don't – this mouth thing, does it mean you – er – I dunno, fancy me?"

Hermione hesitated. "Well…yes."

Perplexingly enough, Harry's lips slowly curved upward into a wide grin. "That works out then."

"W-what do you mean?"

Harry turned a bit redder. "I fancy you, too."

Her book landed on the floor with a loud thud. "You do? Really?"

"Yeah," Harry said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It, uh, kind of confused me at first, but I've known for awhile now."

"Oh – I didn't – I never thought – oh, Harry!"

And with much enthusiasm, she leapt from her chair to where he was sitting and sprinkled kisses across his cheeks.

He was blushing furiously when she pulled away, but grinning like a madman. He looked a bit nervous about something. "Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she hummed contentedly.

"Could I – could I kiss you?"

Hermione beamed at him. "You never had to ask."

And as she felt his lips against hers for the first time, she appreciated his gorgeous mouth more than ever.


End file.
